


(I believe) Our time is gonna come

by LiveOakWithMoss



Series: Punching out my dancelines [13]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (All the firsts), (For this couple anyway), ...guess who does most of it, ...this is an understatement, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Celegorm is a persistent motherfucker, DWMP verse, Everyone's of age don't worry, First Time, Flirting, Guilt, M/M, Mixed perspective, Mutual Pining, Oromë cockblocks himself a lot, Player/Coach relationship, Prequel, Slowish build but only by Celegorm standards, Starts Teen but rockets to Explicit in later chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 05:40:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3163325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Celegorm wanted more, and one time Oromë said yes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This is how it begins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gmuhh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gmuhh/gifts).



> 0\. This is a long overdue gift fic for HinkyPunk! She didn’t know what she was asking for when she asked for DWMP-verse Celegorm/Oromë’s first time together, because I interpreted that to mean…a five chapter series on how they first got together. Yes, I SWEAR this is all for her, and not at all something I’ve been longing to write for like four months….Cough.  
> 1\. I’d be surprised if anyone reading this hasn’t read DWMP, but for reference, check [that](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2106315/chapters/4593480) out (esp chapters 6 and 7). This takes place exactly a year before the start of DWMP, the summer before Celegorm’s senior year.  
> 2\. Yes the title is from REO Speedwagon, just throw me in the trash already. (But first, [listen to it](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8r3bnJZuK2w) and tell me it's not perfect.)

Celegorm slung his bag down by the couch and looked around the room. “Well, it’s way better than a house crawling with exterminators.”

Oromë chuckled, rummaging in the hall closet for spare linens. “High praise.”

“It is also better than a dorm room with a roommate who hates me and has threatened to, and I quote, ‘piss on everything I love’.”

Oromë frowned as he tossed a blanket to Celegorm. “Yes, I can see why you wanted to get out of that situation. Why such animosity?”

Celegorm shrugged, throwing the blanket over the couch. “The usual shit. Two weeks into the summer semester he realized whose son I was, and then it was all, ‘Your father is a monster and should be in jail,’ and my stuff ‘accidentally’ going missing, and I can only take so much of that before someone is removing their teeth from the back of their skull.” Celegorm grinned, looking briefly savage. “Anyway. I’ve only got one strike left with the administration, so…best to remove myself, I thought.”

“I’m impressed. There would have been a time when ‘removing yourself’ from such a situation would never have crossed your mind.”

“No kidding. How do you think I got the first two strikes?” Celegorm threw himself down on the couch with a sigh. “But what can I say: some of your endless lecturing must have gotten through to me.”

“I do work hard at that endless lecturing. All the more to bore you with, of course.”

“It works. Hey, you got a TV? There’s a game on tonight that I’d like to watch. Ah, if that’s cool,” Celegorm added hastily. “I know I’m already crashing your place, don’t let me throw off your shit.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you throw off my shit,” said Oromë, lips twitching. “Yes, I have a TV – well, I had one out here, but the screen broke and I haven’t gotten it fixed yet. I’ve just been watching on the small set I dug out of storage, but it’s in my bedroom.”

“Cool,” said Celegorm at once, jumping to his feet. “Do you mind? Kick-off’s in ten minutes.”

“Not at all. Are you hungry? I can make some food.”

“I’d take a beer, if you have it,” said Celegorm, and lifted his hands as Oromë raised his eyebrows. “Hey, I’m legal! But food’s fine. You don’t need to make anything, though – let’s just order a pizza. My treat. Consider it rent.”

 

-

 

The game was long over, and Celegorm was stretched out full-length on Oromë’s bed, kicking his feet absently as he hung his head off the foot of the bed. “Hey, who’s that woman in pictures with you?” He gestured to the framed photos on Oromë’s bureau. “If you don’t mind me asking. She looks familiar…”

“You may have seen her around campus,” said Oromë, who was leaning back against the headboard. “She’s in the dance department and owns a studio downtown. Nessa – my sister.”

“No kidding.” Celegorm sat up to stare at Oromë. “I didn’t know you had a sister. Are you two close?”

“Close enough. We went a long time without seeing much of each other – she was touring, I was traveling with the national team – but we both ended up here, and we’ve reconnected now that we’re a bit more settled. But we were never as close as it sounds like you and your brothers are.”

“Yeah, well, dad raised us as a pack.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Yeah.” Celegorm smiled, rolling onto his belly and resting his head on his forearms. “I mean, it was nuts too, but at least you could never hold his focus for too long. You could mess up – total the car, or flunk out of geometry, or get thrown off the lacrosse team for smoking weed – and at least he’d have six other sons to distract him. He couldn’t concentrate on being disappointed in you as much as he’d probably like to, not with six other kids to take his attention. So his least favorite fuck-up – hello, yours truly – could fly under the radar some.”

Oromë frowned. “How are you a fuck-up?”

Celegorm snorted. “Oh, come on. It’s me. Look how you found me – that fucking _disaster_ with the football team.”

“You weren’t that bad.”

“I was, though. I was lazy and pissed at everything and didn’t want to do anything people told me to do – just ‘cos I didn’t like being told, you know? I fuckin’ hated being coached.”

“You’re not like that now.”

“Well, it’s different _now_.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s you.” Celegorm raised his head, his eyes meeting Oromë’s, frank and open. “The football coaches used to try and convince us that the game was everything. That nothing else could matter to us – the _game_ had to be number one for us, in everything. We had to want to _win_ more than anything. And it wasn’t ‘cos they believed in the game, or in us, or whatever – it was because they wanted the program to keep getting funded. It pissed me off. Who the fuck are _they_ to tell me what to care about? But _you_ never tried to convince us that the game should be everything. You never told us to love winning – just to love the game.” Celegorm smiled, and his face lit up, wild and joyful. “But I do love it, that’s the thing. I love the game, I love the win; on game days it _does_ feel like the most important thing in the world – and it’s not because you told me so. You spent a lot of time telling us to know our priorities, and that rugby didn’t have to be number one – shouldn’t be number one. What coach says that? You made me love it, Coach, without ever telling me to. But you made me get my life together, first.”

Oromë was watching him, something very soft in his eyes. “That means a lot to hear.”

“I meant it.” Celegorm pushed himself over to lay by Oromë’s side. “How the hell could someone like you look at someone like me and see potential?”

“Because I saw myself.” Oromë’s fingers twitched, like he was going to reach out, but instead he folded his hands carefully in front of him. “I was so much like you, Tyelko – in some ways, I was worse. Wild, unfocused, angry…If someone hadn’t reached out to me, I don’t think I would have lived to see thirty. And I sometimes wonder, if it had been a professor, rather than the rugby coach, who had helped me find my focus, what I might be now…but a coach it was. And a game. And it changed me forever.”

“I’m glad, then. Worked out well for me.” Celegorm hummed and shifted closer, propping his chin on his hand as he watched Oromë. “What was it like, playing pro?”

“A lot of long bus rides.”

Celegorm laughed. “You were hot shit, though. Musta been fun.”

“I loved it,” said Oromë softly. “And the way I loved the game – the reasons it saved me – I saw in you.”

Celegorm didn’t say anything to that, but shifted closer still, and laid his head on Oromë’s thigh. He turned his head away, unable to see Oromë’s face, but his heart was suddenly pounding so hard he was certain Oromë would be able to feel it reverberating through him. Oromë was very, very still.

Celegorm held his breath. _Please_ , he thought, and didn’t know why. _Please._

And then, so gently that at first Celegorm thought he was imagining it, the lightest touch on his head. Large fingers, stroking gently through his hair. There was hesitation in the movement, and Celegorm closed his eyes, lightheaded.

 _Please_.

Oromë’s warm fingers, just brushing the curve of his ear. Oromë’s hand, coming to rest, fingers curling into his hair.

 _Yes_.

Celegorm held himself still, not letting a shiver shake through his body. But he was elated, every nerve sparking as if rather than this chaste touch, Oromë caressed his naked body.

There was silence for a protracted, breathless moment.

Then Oromë said, very low, “Your hair is getting long.”

Celegorm did shiver then, as the deep voice passed through him. “It won’t last,” he said, a little hoarsely. He cleared his throat, and boldly wrapped one arm around Oromë’s knee. “You know we’ll all get our hair buzzed for the start of season.”

He sensed, rather than saw, Oromë shake his head. “You know it’s not necessary. I played pro with dreads halfway down my back.”

Celegorm grinned and turned his face against Oromë’s leg. “You think I could pull off dreads, Coach?”

Oromë’s fingers carded through his hair, and Celegorm resisted the urge to bite at Oromë’s thigh.

_I want you so bad._

“No,” said Oromë, his voice amused. “Even the crew cut would be better than that.”

“It’s not about the look anyway. It’s about team bonding and ‘creating ritual’. You taught us that, remember?”

“So I did.” Oromë sighed. “Too bad.”

Celegorm did roll over then, his head coming to rest in Oromë’s lap as he stared up at his coach, smiling a little. “Too bad? Why, you like my hair long?”

Oromë brushed a strand of it out of his eyes. “More like I feel like I’m suddenly coaching a bunch of Nazi youth when you all turn up with your hair cut short.”

“OUCH. Too far.”

“I take it back, then.” Oromë’s thumb lingered on Celegorm’s cheekbone. “…it really is because I like it long.”

Celegorm swallowed hard at the look in Oromë’s eyes.

_It’s going to happen._

Oromë was watching him abstractedly, like he was momentarily unaware of the strangeness of having Celegorm in his lap. There was a faint smile on his lips, and his fingers were still brushing lightly through Celegorm’s hair.

_Do it._

Oromë bent his head, very slightly, and Celegorm took a shallow breath, his chest so tight it hurt. Oromë’s fingers tightened in his hair, and Celegorm lifted his face, lips parting almost inadvertently.

Then, like some switch had been thrown, Oromë was pulling back, jerking his hand away. He shifted his legs so that Celegorm’s head slid back to the bed.

Celegorm felt suddenly cold, and horribly, painfully rejected.

Oromë was gently extricating himself and standing up. “I’m going to put these away,” he said, like nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and stooped to retrieve their discarded plates. “It’s getting late, anyway, and I have… Tomorrow is…” His voice trailed away, not finishing his sentence, and left the room.

Celegorm lay on the bed and ground the heels of his hands into his closed eyes until he saw spots.

_I was so close._

He let his hands fall away and stared at the ceiling, trying to hold on to the feeling of exhilaration when Oromë had touched him. The electric, wild charge at seeing a certain look in his coach’s eyes.

_I can get there again._

_I’m not imagining this._

_Please._


	2. This is how we fall

Oromë became aware of a presence in his doorway and jerked upright before he was even fully awake. Adrenaline surged through his veins and his hands were already clenching defensively before he processed the pale haired figure shining dimly in the moonlight.

Celegorm.

“Tyelko?” His voice was rough with sleep. “What are you doing? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah.” Celegorm took a step into the room, and Oromë saw that he was shirtless, wearing only his sleep pants. He blinked hard, mentally shaking himself. _You’ve seen him shirtless during practice dozens of times; there’s no reason why he should appear so different now._

_So…enticing._

_Yes_ , said the part of his brain that kept him awake at night, driving him wild with speculation _, and you find him enticing when you watch him during practice, too._

“Are you okay?” he said again. Celegorm was watching him, his eyes bright and clear of sleep. Oromë self-consciously tightened the sheets around his waist, acutely aware of his own bare chest, and cursing his tendency to sleep in very little.

Or nothing.

“I’m fine.” Celegorm’s gaze had slid from Oromë’s face, to his chest, and then lower. They appeared to be having the same thought. “I was…having trouble sleeping.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Oromë, and felt ridiculous. “Um. Anything…” he stopped himself from saying _anything I can do to help?_ as too suggestive, and said, “…any reason in particular?”

Celegorm shrugged. “Couch isn’t the most comfortable.”

“Ah. Well, you could try the, ah…” Oromë trailed off, trying to think. “The futon in the guest room is really old, like I said, but – ”

“Don’t bother,” said Celegorm. “But a bed would be nice.”

Oromë swallowed. _Take charge_. “Well, I can take the couch if you’d prefer to – ”

“How ‘bout I just join you?”

A frisson of electricity ran through Oromë and he clenched his hands in his lap. “What?”

“Let me get in bed with you.” Celegorm’s voice was husky. He took a step forward, and Oromë felt the mattress dip as Celegorm leaned forward, resting his hands on the blankets.

 _I’ve had this dream_.

Oromë opened his mouth, trying to get the right words out.

_No, Tyelko. Go back to sleep – you on the couch and me in here._

It’s what he should say, he knew.

_Enough, Tyelko. You need to leave. We’ll talk about this in the morning._

But though the phrases ran through his head, none passed his lips.

Celegorm slid forward, resting one knee on the bed. He cocked his head, looking at Oromë speculatively. “You want this, don’t you?”

Oromë couldn’t speak.

Celegorm smiled, and as ever, Oromë’s stomach gave a swoop of pure longing. “You would have told me to leave by now, if you didn’t.”

“I can’t.” It came out as a croak, and Oromë tightened his fingers in the sheets, desperate to regain control. “I can’t – ”

“You’re not denying it, though,” whispered Celegorm, and he was all the way on the bed now, braced forward on his hands, leaning towards Oromë. Oromë could feel the warmth of his body; could hear Celegorm’s little intake of breath when Oromë closed his eyes, unable to look. “You want me. Just like I want you.”

_Deny it._

“Coach…”

That word jolted Oromë and he opened his eyes, drawing back. He saw the flicker of desperation in Celegorm’s eyes as the gap between them widened, and his heart lurched. But he drew the scraps of his resolve together with both hands and forced himself to speak, clear and steady. “Tyel – Celegorm.” Celegorm flinched back; Oromë hadn’t used that name since his first week on the team. “Go back to bed.”

“No.” Celegorm’s voice lost some of its evenness, the cockiness that was his trademark. “I _can’t_. I can’t just lie there and know you’re this close and not…”

“Then you shouldn’t be here at all.” He heard the breath rush out of Celegorm and refused to let himself ache at the loss in Celegorm’s eyes. “You need to go back to bed. Please.” That last word was a mistake, he knew as soon as it passed his lips. It was too obviously a plea; it betrayed him utterly.

“Oromë.”

“Don’t.” A shiver ran through Oromë at the sound of his name, and he knew he could no longer feign ignorance of what Celegorm wanted, or deny how much he wanted it himself. But he could still try to stop it. “You have to leave, _now_.” He tried to put the same command into his voice that he used on the practice fields, but he just saw Celegorm’s lips part slightly as he swayed toward Oromë.

“I was right. You _do_ want this, c’mon, just – ”

“You have to _leave_.”

“Or what?” Celegorm’s eyes held that infuriating challenge in them, that wild light that had drawn Oromë to him in the first place. “What’re you gonna do if I don’t?” He was very close now and drawing closer, and Oromë put out a hand to stop him. It was another mistake, because as soon as Oromë felt the smooth heat of Celegorm’s skin, his mind – and his resolve – was wiped blank in a fierce rush of desire.

Celegorm grinned recklessly and pressed forward against Oromë’s touch so that Oromë’s hand slid over his bare skin.

Unthinking, Oromë wrapped his fingers around the curve of Celegorm’s shoulder. “Tyelkormo.”

“Yeah,” murmured Celegorm. “That’s more like it.”

Oromë put out his other hand, taking Celegorm by the shoulders and holding him away.

“What are you going to do?” Celegorm repeated.

Oromë gritted his teeth, frustration rising. _This damned, infuriating boy._ “Damn it, you need to leave.” But his fingers tightened in Celegorm’s flesh, and Celegorm’s eyes shone. He leaned forward into Oromë’s touch.

“Or else you’re gonna do what?”

Oromë growled, a sound that made Celegorm shudder under Oromë’s hands. “I’m serious.”

“I dare you,” breathed Celegorm. “I dare you, Coach, Oromë, _make me…_ ”

Pushed past the brink, Oromë growled again and dragged Celegorm towards him, intent on nothing more than making him _be quiet_. His lips covered Celegorm’s, swallowing the words shaped by that infuriating tongue, silencing that maddening voice, making those teasing eyes widen in surprise. Oromë kissed Celegorm into silence and then pulled back, heart thundering, horror pounding through his veins even as renegade joy roared in his ears.

“I’m sorry, I’m _sorry_ , I shouldn’t have done that,” he whispered, feeling sick. “Jesus, Tyelko, I’m so – ”

“Shut up,” said Celegorm, who looked dazed and exulted in equal measure. “D’you know how long I’ve been wanting you to do that?”

“No, I shouldn’t have,” said Oromë, wildly. “Oh my god, please forget I did that – ” He broke off, appalled with himself. _Don’t ask him to pretend you didn’t do something wrong; you have done something_ so _wrong…_

“Fuck no,” said Celegorm, vehemently. “You think I could forget that? Not in a million years.”

_God, what now?_

“You think kissing me would make me stop wanting you?” There was actual amusement in Celegorm’s face. “Flawed logic there, Coach.”

Oromë realized he was still holding Celegorm’s shoulders and released him so quickly that Celegorm almost fell forward across his lap. Celegorm caught himself, then glanced down, eyes raking Oromë’s body appraisingly. Oromë remembered his nearly bare state and buried his face in his hands, despairing.

Strong hands took his wrists and pulled them away from his face.

“Oromë,” said Celegorm softly. “It’s okay.”

Oromë couldn’t respond, but Celegorm seemed to understand. This time, it was he who leaned forward and kissed Oromë with uncharacteristic gentleness, his hands on Oromë’s shoulders, one hand running up his neck to cradle the base of his skull.

 _Push him away_.

But Oromë didn’t, and instead his hands threaded lightly into Celegorm’s hair, pulling him closer, deepening their kiss.

“It’s not okay,” he whispered into Celegorm’s soft moan, but his body clearly didn’t think so, because he pulled Celegorm into his lap, arms settling tightly around his waist.

“You want me to show how little I care?” Celegorm’s hands stroked over Oromë’s biceps, his thighs sliding apart as he sank down astride Oromë’s lap.

 _No_.

“Yes,” said Oromë’s traitorous mouth, and Celegorm laughed, and did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Shit, guys, there's already [art](http://imindhowwelayinjune.tumblr.com/post/107897045588/hi-you-dont-have-to-publish-this-or-anything-i)! Because givenclarity is a _gift_.


	3. This is when I ask for more

_Well, this is torture._

The whole week, Celegorm had felt like he was trying to escape from his own skin, he was so tightly wound with anticipation. And the whole week, Oromë had been as calm, controlled, and infuriatingly _the same_ as he ever was.

_Does he not care?_

The problem was that each time Celegorm had resigned himself to thinking that Oromë had forgotten the whole thing, or regretted it, or was pretending it hadn’t happened – _or maybe it really_ hasn’t _happened, maybe I just wanted it so badly I hallucinated the whole thing_ , he considered once, glumly – he would look up to catch Oromë’s eyes on him, and every doubt would be scorched from his mind. And in the hour or so that would follow – pure euphoria.

But afterward, back to…

_Fucking limbo._

“This is not how I do shit,” he said to Nahar, who was drowsing by his feet. Oromë was still on campus until that evening, and Celegorm was trying not to go crazy in the quiet house. “This is not how this goes _down_ for me.”

Nahar whuffled in his sleep, and ignored him.

“You and he both,” said Celegorm, peeved. “How can you pretend nothing’s changed?” Nahar opened one sleepy eye. “Okay, so  _you_ don’t care – or maybe you do. Worried you’ll have less room on the bed if I’m in there with him?” He pulled Nahar’s ears lightly, and Nahar closed his eye again. Celegorm released him. “Oh, that’s right, you’re not allowed. So I’ve got one up on you there. I _am_ allowed in his bed. I think. He certainly didn’t seem to mind this morning when I…” He trailed off, his heart speeding up at the memory.

It dropped again as he remembered what had followed; Oromë was running late and hurrying to get dressed and out of the house. He’d turned back briefly, his fingers brushing Celegorm’s cheek, and for a moment Celegorm had been sure he was going to do something as beautifully mundane as kiss him goodbye.

But he hadn’t. He’d said only, “Lock up when you leave the house,” and then he was gone.

Celegorm sighed and drooped back against the couch.  “Okay, I’m definitely going bugfuck crazy now.” His cell-phone yelped as if it had heard him, and he rummaged in his pocket for it. Nahar looked up at the noise.

 

_yo we’re goin out tonight. you comin?_

_hah maybe. where?_

_ulmo’s DUH_

 

Celegorm glanced at Nahar. “Whaddaya say, buddy? Getting sloppy drunk with a bunch of assholes or hanging around here like a lovesick chick?”

Nahar stared at him unimpressed.

“Okay,” Celegorm amended. “You’re right, no need to be gender biased. Getting sloppy drunk with a bunch of assholes or hanging around here like my dumb older brother when he’s mooning over some girl?”

Nahar thumped his tail once and lowered his head to chew at something on his front paw.

“Yo, you are totally right.” Celegorm picked up his phone again.

 

_i'll be there._

_yeaaah the beast is coming! ahaha see you soon bro_

 

Celegorm put his phone back in his pocket. “This seems like a good idea,” he said, to no one in particular, and got up to put on a new shirt.

 

\---

 

It was well past midnight when Celegorm stumbled in, trying to be quiet as he fumbled with the door, and failing utterly as he promptly tripped over the umbrella stand. Swearing quietly, he hopped on one foot as he tried to rub his stubbed toe and collided with a coatrack.

“Oh, _fuck_.”

In his room, Oromë started awake. For a moment he was still, trying to figure out what had woken him. But then he heard a muffled crash and some quiet but fervent cursing, and rolled his eyes. Sitting up and swinging his legs out of bed, he got up and headed out of his room, quietly grateful he’d started sleeping in more clothes since Celegorm had been camping out in his living room.

“Tyelkormo?”

“Shit motherfucker fuck _shit_ ,” said Celegorm, and looked up from the prone coatrack. “Oh heyy, Coach.”

“Need a hand?”

“I knocked over the thing,” said Celegorm, gesturing unnecessarily. “Whoops. I’m a bad house guest, aren’t I?”

“The worst.” Oromë righted the coatrack and reached out a hand to pull Celegorm to his feet. “Fun night out, was it?”

“Not bad.” Celegorm held onto Oromë’s hand a little longer then necessary before putting his hands in his pockets and sloping up against the wall. “I went out with friends and then ran into some other guys from the team.”

“Which guys?” asked Oromë, warily.

“The Doriath crew.”

“Oh, _good,_ that bodes well. I’m telling you, Tyelko, if I have to get any more letters from the AD about fights between - ”

“Yo, Coach, have some faith. I was totally well behaved, you’d be proud. I beat Mablung in pool and didn’t even give him shit when he didn’t have the fifty dollars we bet on the game.” He waited expectantly for praise.

Oromë just gave him a disbelieving look. “Now tell me the rest of the story.”

Celegorm shrugged. “I told him I’d clear his debt if he did a naked lap of the bar.”

Oromë groaned. “Don’t tell me…”

“He got halfway to the jukebox before they bounced him.” Celegorm grinned. “Ever see a naked dude get _bounced_? Oh, it is a sight for sore eyes…” He gave a sigh of malicious rapture. “Anyway, he’s banned from my favorite bar now, so talk about _wins_ …”

“You’re not making this any easier for yourself – or for the rest of us.”

“I thought you just wanted us to stop punching each other in the head. Ain’t this preferable?”

“You’ll both be seniors this season, you’ll both be up for the captaincy, you need to start acting like actual leaders on this team. Not – fomenting misrule.”

Celegorm shook his head. “I think you and my little brother must read the same books. ‘Fomenting misrule’? Christ, Coach, ’s like 2am.”

“It’s like 2am and you’re knocking things over in my hallway,” Oromë pointed out. “I think you can tolerate some vocabulary in return.” He turned on a lamp so he could study Celegorm’s face in the light.

Celegorm winced, pushing himself up off the wall, and without its support, Oromë could see how unsteady he was on his feet, for all his manner was carefully at ease. He caught Celegorm’s chin and looked briefly into his eyes. “You look like you could use about a liter of water and ten hours of sleep.”

Celegorm smiled, hopelessly suggestive, tilting his cheek against Oromë’s hand. “I know something I need more.”

Oromë ignored this, and the way Celegorm sighed as Oromë released him, and headed into the kitchen. “I’m going to get you something to drink.”

“I’ve already had something to drink.”

“Something like _water_.”

“Boo.” Celegorm sat on the arm of the couch as Oromë ran him a glass of water from the tap. “I was hoping you’d join me in gettin’ liquored up. I‘ve never seen you get drunk.”

“And you won’t.” Oromë crossed the room and handed him the glass. “I don’t get ‘liquored up’ anymore.”

“Anymore?” Celegorm took the glass but didn’t bring it to his lips. “Ha, so you used to get rowdy back in the good old – ”

“I used to get _arrested_ back in the good old days,” said Oromë shortly. “I had an anger problem, which combined rather nicely with a drinking problem. So yes, I would ‘get rowdy’ – and get in fights, and get thrown in jail, until it was clear I could keep drinking or I could live to see thirty, keep my job, and keep my health. But not both.”

“Oh.” Belatedly, Celegorm raised the glass of water and took a long swallow.

Oromë tried to smile, aware that the atmosphere had rather changed, and that Celegorm’s face had turned serious and inward. “Drink all that water, and then another, and then go to bed,” he said, and made to head back to his room.

Celegorm finished the glass in a swallow and set it on the end table. “Hey, wait. ‘m not drunk.”

“Sure you’re not.”

“If. If I was drunk you’d have to kick me off the team.”

“Not actually.” Oromë smiled crookedly. “And we’re not in season, so you’re free and clear.”

“You’re not technically my coach right now, huh?”

“Well,” said Oromë, trying to think of a proper response to this. Celegorm had gotten off the couch and was moving towards him, swaying lightly as he walked. “I’m…technically, I’m…” But what he was, exactly, was lost as Celegorm took his face between his hands and kissed him.

It should alarm him, he knew, how easy it was becoming to kiss Celegorm back. It should alarm him how familiar he was becoming with the feel of Celegorm’s lips beneath his; with the feel of Celegorm pressed to his chest, the feel of Celegorm’s fingers winding into his hair.

He could see what would happen next as clearly as if in a vision: _How their hands would slide beneath each others’ clothes, how Celegorm’s breathing would quicken, how his kisses would become more urgent, how easy it would be to lift him and press him back against the wall, how Celegorm’s legs would wrap eagerly around his waist; the fumbling with clothing so that they could free themselves and press against each other, how Oromë would take them both in hand and bring them off together, Celegorm rasping out filthy pleas and encouragement, until Oromë stifled him once again with a long, deep kiss as they…_

But as Celegorm parted his lips, tongue greedy against Oromë’s, Oromë could taste the liquor on his breath and it shook him free of his vision as swiftly as if he’d been doused in cold water. He laid his hands on Celegorm’s hips and pushed him gently away. “Bed, Tyelko.”

“Sure,” breathed Celegorm. “’s long as you come with me.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“There was this girl, tonight,” said Celegorm, ignoring him. His fingers found Oromë’s throat and ran up it to his jaw. His eyes were fixed on Oromë’s lips. “She wanted to… She wanted… Me. Which’s cool, y’know, ‘n’ usually I’d go for it, for sure. But tonight, even when she was, like, all up on me…I couldn’t stop thinking about you, instead.”

“Really,” said Oromë, trying not to think about Celegorm wrapped around some nameless, faceless girl.

“I didn’t fuck her.”

“That’s fine.”

“Because all I could think about was fucking you.”

Oromë closed his eyes, very briefly, and opened them again. Celegorm was watching him.

“I want you so bad, Oromë.” Celegorm ran a finger across Oromë’s lips. “I want you to fuck me, I want to have you, I want _everything_ … ‘n’ I want you to stop acting like this isn’t happening, y’know?” He swayed again, stumbling and catching himself with a hand grabbing for Oromë’s shoulder, and the haze of desire that had been rising again in Oromë was rapidly quenched. He caught Celegorm by the arm and steered him firmly back to the couch.

“Trust me, I know it's happening. But right now you need to sleep it off, Tyelko.”

Celegorm lifted his head and nuzzled against Oromë’s jaw, one hand fumbling for the tie of Oromë’s sleep pants. Oromë grabbed his wrist and pulled him away.

“No.”

“No?”

“ _No_.” Oromë pressed Celegorm down to the couch with a firm but gentle hand.

“You don’t want me?”

“I think you know that I do,” said Oromë softly, and tried not to let his heart leap at how Celegorm’s face lit up. “I don’t mean to...act like nothing’s happening. I'm just trying to figure out how to do this."

"And just what are we gonna do? What do you  _want_ to do?"

"I think I probably want as much as you do." Oromë pushed Celegorm's hair out of his eyes, and Celegorm reached for his hand. "But whatever we do…it’s not happening tonight.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re _drunk_ , and that’s non-fucking-negotiable.” _I may be depraved enough to want to sleep with my twenty-one year old player, but I’m not depraved enough to do it while he’s drunk._

“You don’t swear,” murmured Celegorm, his fingers light on Oromë’s wrist.

“Shows what you know.”

Celegorm laughed, and their fingers briefly intertwined before Oromë drew his hand gently away. Celegorm cocked his head, letting Oromë pull back. “I’m gonna get you some day, aren’t I?”

_You already have me._

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” said Oromë, and leaned down to kiss Celegorm again, quite against his better judgment.


	4. This is how we get close

Celegorm let himself in through the screen door at the back of the house, his breath still coming hard from his run. He came into the coolness of the house with relief, dragging off his shirt and using it to mop his sweaty face and neck.

“Mother _fucker_ , it is hot,” he said to Nahar, who had padded around the corner to investigate the intruder. Seeing it was just Celegorm, Nahar sniffed briefly at him, then turned to head back into the living room. Celegorm glanced around curiously.

“Where’s Oromë, huh, pup? He around?”

Nahar remained unhelpful on this front.

“Hm.” Celegorm went into the kitchen and grabbed himself a Gatorade from the fridge, downing it almost entirely in one go, then shaking his head to free the damp hair stuck to his forehead. “Has he evaporated?”

“Has who evaporated?”

Celegorm jumped and spun around. Oromë was coming up the steps from the basement, looking curious. Celegorm started to respond, but broke off before he even started, distracted. Oromë was stripped to the waist, wearing only athletic shorts. His hair was caught back in a wrap, his bare chest shining with sweat. It was the most casual Celegorm had ever seen him, by day, anyway, and it rendered him momentarily speechless.

“Tyelko?”

“Uh, yeah.” Celegorm blinked and shook his head again. “I was just wondering where you were. Doing something, ah, vigorous in the basement, were you?” He grinned and cocked his head, regaining his swagger, and Oromë gave him a look of fond exasperation.

“I was working out.”

“Seriously? I don’t think I’ve…ever seen you work out.” Celegorm thought. “But you must, right, how else would you keep your body looking that good?”

“Thank you, I think.” Oromë ducked into the bathroom, and Celegorm could hear the tap running as Oromë splashed water on his face. “I can’t do much in the way of high impact exercise these days,” he said, coming back out of the bathroom with a towel slung around his shoulders, “because after a decade on the pitch, my knees aren’t what they used to be. But I can still do work with weights and the like.”

“It shows,” said Celegorm, eying Oromë appreciatively.

“Were you out for a run?”

“Yep. Just as ordered by the handy, informative, and _long_ packet sent to me by my beloved coach at the start of the summer.” Celegorm poked at a sheaf of papers on the counter. “So – as I _always_ have – I have been being diligent about my off-season training.”

“Right. Ever diligent, that’s you. That’s why you ended the first week of practice last season by cursing me out as a sadist and falling over.”

“That was affectionate jesting, Coach, can’t you take a joke?”

“Are you just trying to impress me with your training because you know this summer I’ll notice if you skip a day?”

“No, I’m just _super_ conscientious.”

“In that case,” said Oromë, folding his arms (Celegorm couldn’t help but notice what this motion did for the swell of his biceps, and bit back a sigh of longing), “I’ll leave you be so you can proceed to the core strengthening part of your training regimen.”

Celegorm’s shoulders slumped. “Oh, yeah.” Then he straightened up and shot Oromë a blinding smile. “I’m on it, Coach.”

Celegorm started doing push-ups and Oromë vanished into the bedroom, reappearing shortly thereafter in a tee-shirt and jeans. He busied himself in the kitchen, but was clearly watching Celegorm out of the corner of his eye. Celegorm grinned and rolled over to start his sit-ups. He tossed his hair out of his eyes, and his smile broadened as he saw Oromë pause, his eyes fixed on Celegorm.

When Oromë came over and crouched beside him, Celegorm’s heart sped up and he licked his lips. “Come over to correct my form, Coach?” he asked, his voice a low purr.

“Yes, actually.”

Celegorm dropped back down to the ground, letting out a groan.

Oromë laid a palm flat against Celegorm’s stomach. “You’re pulling yourself up more with the muscles of your back and legs than with your core,” he said, his deep voice as calm and didactic as if they were on the practice fields. “Tighten your belly,” the tips of his fingers pressed lightly into Celegorm’s flesh, “and keep your back straight. Don’t curl over so much, or hunch your shoulders.”

“Once a coach, always a coach, eh?” Celegorm tried another sit-up, Oromë’s hand still on his midriff, and Oromë smiled faintly.

“I never stopped being your coach, Tyelko.” He sat back on his heels, pulling his hand away, and Celegorm finished the rest of his set in silence.

 

But when Oromë got up to go back into his room, Celegorm followed. He didn’t try to approach him, but threw himself down on the bed with a long exhale. “Ahh, it’s so much cooler in here.”

“It’s the shady part of the house,” said Oromë, regarding the figure sprawled over his bed. When it became clear that Celegorm wasn’t going anywhere, Oromë sighed and lay down carefully on the bed next to him. They didn’t quite touch, but Celegorm shifted over to rest his head against Oromë’s shoulder. Oromë raised a hand to run absent fingers through Celegorm’s damp hair. His fingers dragged gently against Celegorm’s scalp, and then it was Celegorm’s turn to sigh, and close his eyes.

They dozed off like that, Celegorm tucked under Oromë’s arm, Oromë’s fingers pulling slowly through his hair.

 

-

 

When Oromë woke, he thought he was still dreaming. It was a common enough path for his dreams, certainly, to lead him to a moment in which a well-muscled young body was pressed against his, a bright head tucked under his chin. He shifted slightly on his side, and Celegorm sighed in his sleep and settled back so that Oromë’s body aligned perfectly along the curve of his spine. Still half asleep, lazy with warmth and sleepy desire, Oromë ran a hand along Celegorm’s bare waist, hooking his fingers into the waist of Celegorm’s shorts and pressing a kiss to the nape of Celegorm’s neck. It was only when Celegorm let out a murmur that Oromë realized he wasn’t dreaming, and it was a beat later that he realized, to his shame, that he was powerfully aroused and pressed snugly against the curve of Celegorm’s ass. Though he ached for more friction, Oromë reined in his urges and made to draw back.

Celegorm took that moment to stir in his arms. Oromë froze, only to feel a sweep of blinding pleasure as Celegorm ground his hips back, directly against Oromë’s groin.

And all thoughts of retreat were wiped from Oromë’s mind.

 

-

 

Celegorm woke, and wondered briefly why he felt so unusually still and content. Usually the restlessness would hit him quickly, driving him to impatience and action and quick words and quicker movements. But there were strong, warm arms wrapped around him, and he could feel the heat of Oromë’s broad chest and belly against his back, and he thought, sleepily, that if he never had to move again – something that he’d otherwise consider torture – he’d be more than happy to do so if it meant he could lie here, no longer held at arm’s length, but _held_.

It was then that his brain registered the hard press of Oromë’s erection against his back.

And fortunately, Celegorm hadn’t made a pact of immobility, because it meant he could shift his hips – he’d almost immediately hardened in response – and rub back against Oromë.

 

-

 

Soon they were moving together, the dirty grind of their hips made more maddening by the layers of fabric between them. Unable to bear it, Oromë thrust a hand down between them, jerking down the fly of his jeans as Celegorm hissed, “Oh, fuck yeah, Coach.”

His forehead pressed between Celegorm’s shoulder blades, Oromë pushed down Celegorm’s shorts until they were below the crack of his ass. He ran a hand over the taut flesh, squeezing lightly as Celegorm cursed and bit at Oromë’s arm, which was still stretched beneath his neck. Oromë’s hand slid over the arch of Celegorm’s hip and around to run along the hard length of his cock.

“ _Nnh_ , yes.”

Oromë stroked Celegorm lightly, still not quite daring to bring himself flush to Celegorm’s back.

“ _Fuck_ , do it, c’mon…”

With an effort, Oromë propped himself on one elbow and stretched over Celegorm to fumble in the nightstand where he kept such things. Grabbing a bottle of lube, Oromë slicked himself up and slid lightly against Celegorm, settling easily into long, sweet strokes between his buttocks. He let out a heavy breath at the sensation, and Celegorm answered him with a muffled groan. Oromë nuzzled forward into Celegorm’s neck, reaching around to take Celegorm in hand again.

“Is this okay?”

He saw goose bumps break out over Celegorm’s skin, and felt Celegorm’s cock throb in his hand. It was as if that quiet question had affected Celegorm more than all the filthy endearments Oromë could – _and wanted to, god how he wanted to_ – whisper in his ear.

“ _Yes_.” Celegorm turned his head to bury his face in the pillow, stifling another groan as Oromë tightened his fingers around Celegorm’s cock and simultaneously slid himself along the hot clench of Celegorm’s buttocks. “Go…go further. You d-don’t have to stay like that,” his breath caught again and his words stuttered, “…oh _god_ , Oromë, if you want to fuck me…”

“Not this time,” Oromë breathed into Celegorm’s hair. “Not like that, not yet. And what do you think I’m doing now, if not fucking you?” He bit at Celegorm’s ear, feeling reckless desire build; a wild part of him, long buried, eager to see how far he could unwind Celegorm’s control.

“You know what I mean,” Celegorm gasped, and Oromë hid a smile against Celegorm’s shoulder. _Always stubborn, my Tyelkormo_. _Not one to let things drop, even when I have him…on edge…_ Celegorm swore again and fell quiet, his fingers clenching in the blankets as Oromë moved his hand in steady, teasing strokes over his cock, running his thumb over the dripping head at the top of each stroke.

“Another time,” Oromë whispered, as Celegorm ground back against him, his cock still sliding slickly against Celegorm’s ass. “Another time I will make love to you, fuck you like you want to be fucked,” Celegorm shuddered at the drop of each _fuck_ from Oromë’s lips, “take you hard, and deep, fill you up utterly, my Tyelkormo…” He breathed it right into Celegorm’s ear, and Celegorm cried out, pulsing in Oromë’s hand. Oromë had never said the words out loud, though he’d long grown accustomed to thinking them – _my Tyelkormo_ – and they clearly had as powerful an effect on Celegorm as they did on him.

 

They’d given each other pleasure before, at this point. There had been the night Celegorm had slipped into the shower with Oromë, his eyes sliding down Oromë’s naked body and widening as they fell on – “Holy _shit_ , Coach.” He’d dropped to his knees right there in the shower, water sluicing down his back, and the hot feeling of his mouth closing around Oromë’s cock had made Oromë drop back painfully against the shower wall – bruising himself on the faucet, though he wouldn’t notice the bruise until later. There was the night when Oromë had jerked Celegorm off, pressed against the wall, Celegorm teasing and cajoling all the way until the end, when his words had stuttered and failed and he’d dug his fingers so hard into Oromë’s shoulders he’d left gouges to complement the bruise from the shower, and he’d come, hot and hard in Oromë’s hand, choking out his name.

 

This was new. This was so close to what Oromë had dreamed about, their bodies moving together, so close to being _within_ Celegorm… For weeks he’d wanted _more_ and _closer_ , wanted to take Celegorm against him, into him, around him, wanted to possess Celegorm in every way possible.

He was almost there.

But he held back from the temptation of pushing past that final line, and instead they came together, Celegorm gasping and spilling himself on the bedspread, Oromë breathing his release into Celegorm’s shoulder, pulsing out his orgasm against the small of Celegorm’s back.

In the brief moment before the guilt came, when Celegorm’s head dropped back on his shoulder and their lips found each other, Oromë felt nothing but pure joy.


	5. This is how it happens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (This is how it ends)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Explicit sex. NSFW y'all.

Celegorm got the call from his older brother that afternoon.

“Hey, Tyelko, dad says the exterminators have cleaned out and the house is ready for us again. Kano and I are moving back in tomorrow – you want to pick up Moryo from campus and bring your stuff back in the morning?”

“It’s gonna be my last night here,” said Celegorm, after he hung up. His eyes were fixed on Oromë. “So I’ll be outta your hair finally.”

“I’m glad I could help,” said Oromë softly. “It was no trouble. It was…”

“Your pleasure?” Celegorm grinned, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. They held the unspoken question: _After tonight, does this end?_

Oromë didn’t say anything, but he let his hand linger on Celegorm’s shoulder for a moment before Celegorm turned away to grab his bag from the end of the couch and start shoveling his clothes into it.

“At least I’ll get a bed again,” said Celegorm, carelessly, his back to Oromë, as if for more than half the nights over the past month the couch hadn’t stood empty.

“I’ll be sure to get something better than that beat-up futon in the spare room for your next visit,” said Oromë, attempting good humor, but it sounded feeble even to his own ears. He fell silent, watching Celegorm pack, until Nahar came over and nosed into his hand, angling for a walk.

 

-

 

Neither of them pretended to sleep that night, and when Celegorm appeared in Oromë’s doorway, Oromë was awake, waiting for him. He took Celegorm into his arms almost roughly, kissing him more fiercely than he ever had before, and Celegorm responded with a growl of pleasure, wrapping his arms around Oromë’s shoulders and his thighs around Oromë’s waist.

“This time, this time,” he breathed, as Oromë threw caution to the winds and sucked a bruise onto Celegorm’s collarbone, “this time it’s going to happen, it’s _got_ to happen, please, Coach…”

And Oromë kissed him on the lips, and said only, “Yes.”

But when they were both stripped down, Celegorm astride Oromë’s hips, Oromë paused, taking his hand from Celegorm’s erection as Celegorm groaned at the loss of sensation.

“Have you done this before?”

Celegorm let out a snort of laughter. “You kidding me? I lost my virginity when I was fifteen, Coach. I’m _more_ than sexually proficient, don’t worry.”

“I meant,” Oromë caught Celegorm’s wrists as Celegorm leaned down to kiss him again, “Have you ever had sex with a man before?”

“ ‘course I have,” said Celegorm brusquely. “I swear to god, if you’re looking for more reasons to tell me no…”

“I just thought it wouldn’t hurt to check,” said Oromë softly.

“You think too much.” Celegorm twisted free of Oromë’s hands and kissed him hard. “One last night, Coach…I’m gonna have you or be damned.”

“What if,” said Oromë, as Celegorm rolled them both over so Oromë was braced above him, “you took me, instead?”

“What?”

“There’s no rule that says I have to be the one on top,” said Oromë, brushing a kiss to Celegorm’s throat. “And I assure you I’m more than capable of it.” He smiled at the astonished look in Celegorm’s eyes. “You really never considered that an option?”

“I never thought of it,” said Celegorm honestly. “Every time I imagined it – and trust me, I’ve imagined it a lot – I imagined you…y’know, _fucking_ me.”

“We can do that too.” Oromë propped his elbows on either side of Celegorm’s head, as Celegorm’s hands ran lightly up and down his back. “But maybe, to start, we could try it this way…I don’t want our first time together to hurt you.”

Celegorm’s eyes darkened, flickering into anger in the lightning change that made him such a terror on the field. “Oh, so _that’s_ your angle. Do you think I’m fucking fragile? Think I’m some fucking virgin who can’t take it?”

“No, I just…”

Celegorm snarled and shoved Oromë over so he could straddle his waist again. “God damn it, Oromë, I’m so fucking tired of you putting me off and treating me like I’m some innocent fucking _kid_.”

“I’m not!” Oromë reached up to touch Celegorm’s cheek, but Celegorm knocked his hand away and pinned Oromë’s wrists to the mattress.

“I want this,” he said, his voice low and almost dangerous. “I want _you_ , and I want you to _fuck_ me, right fucking _now_.” He leaned down and bit at Oromë’s lower lip. “Is that clear enough for you?”

It was.

“Drawer in the side table,” said Oromë hoarsely, as Celegorm ground down against him, “Lube, and condoms.”

“Lube sounds good,” said Celegorm, leaning over to open the drawer, “but fuck the condoms, man, it’s not like you’re gonna get me pregnant.”

Oromë pulled himself upright, so that Celegorm slid back against his knees. “I’ve used the phrase non-fucking-negotiable before, Tyelko, and I will again.”

“Look, I don’t care, I trust that you’re clean or whatever, and I’m not sleeping with anyone else right now, so…”

“That’s the kind of logic that will definitely get you in trouble. This has nothing to do with how much you trust me, or I you, Tyelko – we’re using a condom. Or this ends right now.”

“ _Fine_.”

“Damn right.”

Celegorm poured some lube into his hand and ran it over Oromë’s cock, grinning at how Oromë caught his breath and moved involuntarily into Celegorm’s grip. “You know I just find it hot when you get bossy, don’t you?”

“If it keeps us both healthy, then I don’t care about your motivation…” Oromë closed his eyes and groaned as Celegorm slid their slicked up cocks together. “ _God_.” He groaned again as Celegorm unrolled a condom over his erection, stroking him lightly in the process.

Celegorm bit his lip, eyes shining with eagerness as he braced a hand by Oromë’s shoulders and shifted his hips forward so that Oromë was pressed against his entrance.

“Whoa.” Oromë grabbed Celegorm’s hips. “Easy, Tyelko, not so fast…”

“Fast? What the fuck has been fast about any of this? I’ve been wanting you to fuck me since…okay, since _May_ , I think I’ve earned - ”

“You’re going to hurt yourself. Let me help…”

“I’ve done that part already,” breathed Celegorm. “You think all those nights out on the couch alone I was just twiddling my thumbs? I’ve been warming up for you, Coach. Tonight included.”

Oromë’s fingers tightened in Celegorm’s flesh. “Is that so?” His voice was low and husky, and he tried not to show how much the image of Celegorm _warming up_ turned him on.

“You better believe it.” Celegorm flashed his teeth in a bright, mad grin, and began to press himself down on Oromë’s cock.

“Wait – ”

Celegorm let out a hiss of pain, his legs tightening convulsively around Oromë’s waist. “Ahh. Okay, no, I’m fine, hold on…”

“Tyelko, slow down.” Oromë’s hands slid to Celegorm’s thighs, trying to gentle him, but Celegorm pushed him away.

“I don’t want…to fucking…go _slow_ …oh _, fuck_.” He bit his lip so hard that he drew blood, and Oromë lost patience.

“Enough.” He grabbed Celegorm around the waist and flipped him over, pressing him down against the mattress. He held Celegorm’s arms still as Celegorm cursed him, pulling back so that he was no longer between Celegorm’s buttocks. “You’re going to _slow down_ and let me open you up now. You may not care about your well-being, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you hurt yourself. Not doing something I’ve wanted for just as long as you have.” He kissed Celegorm gently, and felt Celegorm’s tensed muscles relax under his hands. “Now, are you going to let me do this right? If not, I can always just tie you up.”

Celegorm laughed, despite himself. “…I’ve mentioned how much I like when you’re bossy as hell, right, Coach?”

“I think I remember something to that effect.” Oromë kissed Celegorm again and released one of his arms so he could run a hand over Celegorm’s cock, which had started to soften at the first sharp stabs of pain. When he had Celegorm hard again, Oromë slid a slicked-up finger behind Celegorm’s balls to press lightly against his entrance. “How could you want to miss this part?” he murmured, as Celegorm gasped and jerked up against him. “This is where half the fun happens…”

By the time Oromë was working three fingers into him, Celegorm was incoherent and panting against the pillows, his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat and his cock leaking pre-cum onto his stomach.

Oromë was watching him hungrily, a half smile on his lips. “Do I have you converted to my methods yet?” he asked, as he nuzzled a kiss into Celegorm’s neck and crooked his fingers slightly.

Celegorm grabbed him by the hair and gasped, “You motherfucker, I hate you so much…”

“Is that so?”

“If you make me come like this I’ll never forgive you.”

“Mmm. I was kind of looking forward to feeling you orgasm with my fingers inside you…”

“Think how much better it’s gonna feel when I come with your dick inside me. Do it _now_ , Oromë.”

Oromë pulled his hand free, and Celegorm let out an involuntary whine. “Hurry.”

“Don’t worry,” Oromë murmured, settling himself between Celegorm’s thighs. “I’m as eager as you are, Tyelko, I promise.”

When he finally slid in, in one long, smooth thrust, Celegorm cried out so loudly that Oromë would have checked to see if the neighbors’ lights had come on, had he not been so preoccupied with keeping himself under control. Celegorm clenched down hard around him. Despite Oromë’s careful preparation, it was still clearly almost too much for his body to adjust to.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

“Are you okay?” whispered Oromë, bending down to press their foreheads together. “Talk to me, Tyelko.”

“I’m…I’m…yeah. Give me a second.” Celegorm was sweating, and his hands were painfully tight on Oromë’s shoulders. “Ahh. Fuck, _fuck_ you’re big…”

Oromë caressed his cheek, a little worried. “I can stop any time.”

“No. Don’t you dare. _Unh_. Just…start moving, okay?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

Oromë began to move again, but as he did, he slipped a hand between them to take Celegorm in hand. Celegorm cried out again, his head dropping back, and this time it was tinged more with pleasure than with pain. The next long thrust Oromë made into him, Celegorm’s legs came up to lock around Oromë’s lower back, and when Oromë slid in all the way, he knew he’d hit his mark.

“Oh, Jesus, do that again.”

“With pleasure,” Oromë whispered, and did.

It was everything he’d ever dreamed of, those long nights he’d spent tormenting himself with visions of his wild, beautiful, infuriating Celegorm. It was _more_ than he’d dreamed of. His dreams could never have conjured the way Celegorm’s fingers dug into his back, urging him closer, deeper, holding him so tightly that it felt like a silent supplication – or more likely, a command: _Don’t you dare let me go._ His dreams could never have supplied such radioactive joy, or such heady, intoxicating pleasure. He’d known to expect the tight heat of Celegorm’s body, but nothing could have prepared him for the pure satisfaction when Celegorm lifted his hips to meet his thrusts, or when Celegorm’s hands slipped down his back to grasp his waist, his hips, his buttocks – _closer, deeper, don’t stop, don’t you dare –_

It couldn’t last long. Celegorm was far too wound up already, his cock achingly hard where it was trapped between their bodies, and Oromë had wanted this for far too many lonely nights to hold himself back. Celegorm cursed a blue streak right up to the very end, when words failed him, and his head dropped back, his lips parted around pleas and exhortations that never made it over his tongue. Oromë never took his eyes from Celegorm’s face, and it was the sight of him like this, completely undone by pleasure, that sent him to his own orgasm.

 

He rolled carefully away so as not to collapse on top of Celegorm, giving himself a moment to catch his breath, eyes closed, before he reached down to remove the condom. As he leaned off the bed to toss it into the wastebasket, Celegorm came up behind him, winding strong arms around his waist and pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades.

“Let me grab you something to clean up with,” Oromë began, but Celegorm shook his head, grinning.

“Taken care of.”

Oromë turned back in time to see Celegorm kick a wadded up shirt off the bed.

“Was that yours or mine?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Oromë started to sigh, but laughed instead, dropping back on the mattress, and Celegorm took the opportunity to wrap himself around Oromë’s body. Oromë folded an arm around him as Celegorm tangled their legs together.

“Worth the wait?” Oromë dropped a kiss to the top of Celegorm’s head.

“I’d say yes, but I don’t want to encourage you on the whole waiting thing,” mumbled Celegorm. He rubbed his cheek against Oromë’s chest, and closed his eyes. “Oromë, I – ”

Oromë could hear the weight of the words before they fell, and tugged Celegorm up into a kiss so that his tongue absorbed them before his ears could.

“Thank you, my Tyelkormo,” he murmured, when they broke apart, and Celegorm shivered, as he always did, at the sound of his name on Oromë’s lips.

“Listen, Oromë, I know… Look, I know it can’t be, like, normal, but… This isn’t going to be the last time, is it? It can’t be. I don’t think I could… Now that I know what it’s like to have you, I’m not gonna pretend…”

“We’ll see,” whispered Oromë, the dread and guilt already starting to spiral up from his belly.

 _You know this can’t last_.

But he crushed down the fear and pulled Celegorm close, feeling Celegorm’s body relax against him, warm and sleepy and heavy with what they had both left unspoken.

For one more night, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I made myself a little sad with the ending and then had to remind myself it was a prequel and that, like, things do work out for them eventually. More or less.  
> 2\. ...I'm also kind of sad to be posting the last chapter of this. But thanks so much for sticking with it! Aaand normal dwmp starts up as usual next Thursday (with plenty of Celegorm and Oromë, sweet Jesus, the shit I have planned..)


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